


if he was fire then she must be wood

by janie_tangerine



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dorks in Love, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Jaime/Brienne Appreciation Week 2016, Marriage, Mild Sexual Content, Pre-Series, Teen Romance, Weddings, What-If, there's implied/past jaime/cersei also
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-19 00:06:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8180956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: in which Tywin realizes what's going on with Jaime and Cersei before he can join the Kingsguard and decides that Jaime can benefit from some time away from his family. Specifically, as Lord Selwyn's ward.





	

**Author's Note:**

> soooo. I started this a while ago (a LONG while ago ops) for a kinkmeme prompt that wanted J/B with Jaime sent as a ward on Tarth pre-rebellion, but then I left it halfway. Then I realized that it could work for _all_ the prompts for this year's J/B week and obviously I couldn't do a thing every day so I figured I'd finish it and go for it. Here we go, have fun. As usual, I own nothing and the title is from Leonard Cohen.
> 
> Also: this is book canon for most things but let's pretend that they had like a three year age difference for this or that it's more like show canon because otherwise it might have been a problem to make it work. ;)

  1. **reluctance**



The first time he sees her training, he abruptly changes idea about how dreadful the next few years or months might be.

He hadn’t expected his father to ship him off _here_ as a fucking ward the moment he learned about his plans to take the white. And the first time he saw Lord Selwyn’s only living daughter he had distinctly thought _my life is a jape_ – he couldn’t have been stuck with someone looking more different from Cersei, and that hadn’t done anything to make him feel any better. Brienne had looked awkward in her ill-fitted red gown, her hair falling straight on her shoulders, and she had introduced herself while looking straight at the ground. Too bad, since the only nice thing about her are her blue eyes.

Jaime had already started to dread the time he’d be forced to spend here, and the fact that he would have spent it away from Cersei, when he walked close to the training yard. He had figured that he would introduce himself to the master at arms and at least see if he could spar some to fight boredom. And then he had realized that someone was already training, and that it wasn’t a man.

It’s Lord Selwyn’s daughter, wearing mail and men’s garb, which definitely suits her more than gowns ever could, and _well_ , she doesn’t look half bad.

Two minutes later, when she disarms the master, Jaime has to correct himself – she’s good. And it’s _intriguing_ – after all, in that gown she had just looked ugly, but then again no one with slender shoulders and a tiny waist could fight half as good.

He smirks, deciding that maybe there could be half a chance that his stay here won’t turn into total and complete boredom.

“My lady,” he says as she wipes dust off her breeches. Her eyes snap towards him, narrowing.

“What do you want?” she asks, her tone clipped. “And don’t call me like that.”

“Well, since you valiantly disarmed your master and I was going to ask him if he’d let me spar, I figured you could do it with me.”

She stares at him, her crooked teeth biting down on her bottom lip. (Not as thin and beautifully shaped as Cersei’s – actually, it’s split. She probably got hit during the fight.) Then she stands up straight.

“Are you serious about it?” she asks, her tone giving nothing away. She can sound solemn, for someone of ten and two. Or at least Jaime thinks she’s ten and two – he didn’t exactly cared to ask.

“Do I look like I’m japing? I need someone to train with, anyway.”

“The swords are in the armory. Get one. I’ll be here.”

Jaime smirks when he turns his back on her.

He isn’t smirking when it takes him a good five minutes to disarm her – it’s been years since it took him this long to beat someone, and she’s younger than him, and he’s a _knight_ and she’s not.

She’s _good_.

“Don’t look that sour,” he tells her when she scowls at him the moment he offers to help her up. “You can have as many rematches as you wish.”

Brienne doesn’t answer, but from the way she’s looking at him, he’s sure that if he doesn’t find her tomorrow, she will be the one to find him.

Well. She’s no Cersei, but at least she’s a lot more interesting that he had thought she could ever be. And it’s not as if she can complain if she gets to practice with an anointed knight.

They keep a decent relationship from that point – they only really interact while fighting, and while she has never beaten him yet, she got very close to it a couple of times. It only made Jaime exercise more, because he _won’t_ get beaten by a woman, as good as she is, but it’s a pleasant enough arrangement. The island is small but not entirely horrible – surely better than being sent North, in any case –, he has a good sparring partner, things could be worse. He still misses Cersei in the same way he’d miss a limb, and he’s careful that his ravens to her are carefully sealed when sent (he hopes his father won’t read them, and he writes with caution in the first place), but at least this isn’t as miserable as he had thought.

 

  1. **protection**



 

Then one day Lord Selwyn tells him that he arranged to find Brienne a betrothed and he’s supposed to visit on the next day, so she won’t be training that afternoon. And on the evening there will be a feast, which is pleasant enough news – at least he’ll get to drink some good wine.

He doesn’t see Brienne until the next afternoon, when he runs into her in one of Evenfall’s hallways. There’s a mirror on the wall and she’s staring into it, and she doesn’t look too pleased with her overall appearance. She’s wearing a blue gown that matches her eyes – it’s still a bad fit on her, she wasn’t made to wear that kind of garment, but at least it seems sewn better than the one she had when she met him. And it matches her eyes and hair a lot better. Her hair is braided, but it doesn’t look especially pretty. And Jaime can understand why she doesn’t look pleased – her hands are still bigger and rougher than a proper lady’s should be, her nose doesn’t look any straighter (she broke it a couple years ago, he learned) and her face isn’t any prettier.

“They’ll be waiting for you,” he says, and she almost jumps before turning towards him. She’s probably nervous, Jaime realizes.

“I know,” she replies, sounding miserable. “But it’s not – I _hate_ skirts.”

Jaime chuckles, figuring that she would. “Well, that one suits you a lot better than all the others I’ve seen on you.” Which is just the truth – it might not be exactly a compliment, but her shoulders relax a bit at that.

“Father says he will like me,” she says then, dejectedly. Jaime has no answer for that – if he said that he agrees, everyone could tell that he’d be lying. From the one time Jaime met Ronnet Connington, he doesn’t recall him as a considerate fellow. She’s a good match for him, sure – Tarth isn’t a useless piece of land, and his uncle being prince Rhaegar’s friend doesn’t make him any more powerful – he’s the son of a cousin of Jon Connington’s, or at least he thinks he is. But still, Jaime can’t predict the outcome of the meeting.

“Well, he won’t if you keep on looking as if this is the worst day of your life.”

She lets out a small snort, then turns her back towards the mirror. Obviously she figured out that staring won’t change anything. “Fine then. I will come shortly.”

He nods, leaving her behind as he walks down the stairs, with the feeling that this will end bad.

\--

He _knows_ it will end badly when Connington asks him if she’s as ugly as he had been warned. Jaime tells him that in his case it shouldn’t be an issue and declines to give him a real answer.

But then she’s walking down the stairs, her back held straight, and she’s as tall as her betrothed, even if he has some three years on her at least. (Same as Jaime.)

And the moment Connington sees her, he doesn’t do anything to hide his displeasure, even as he hands her a rose that he had brought with him.

 _Seven hells,_ Jaime thinks, _of course. I just hope he keeps his mouth shut. I just hope that –_

“ _My lady_ , I think this is the only thing you’ll have from me,” he hisses, and _of fucking course he wouldn’t keep his mouth shut._ “Seven hells, I’ve seen sows more beautiful than you. This was a waste of time.”

Jaime knows that he should keep to his seat and keep his mouth shut. He’s a ward, and his father made sure to make him _know_ that he was supposed to lay low. But the moment Ronnet Connington turns his back on Brienne, he sees her eyes fill up with tears, and for a moment Jaime feels shocked – damn, she’s never looked that miserable in the months he’s known her, and she’s never moaned or complained once during their sparring sessions. (She just stood up and trained harder.) He remembers his brother looking like that, more than once, especially when he was cruelly reminded about his height.

He doesn’t know he’s stopped Ronnet Connington on his way out until he actually grabbed his shoulder and turned him around.

“You know,” Jaime says, “that’s no way to treat a lady.”

And then he punches him across his mouth hard enough that when Jaime looks down at his right hand, his knuckles are deep red. For a moment he asks himself what the hell he just did. Then – well. He’s a knight. And Brienne might be no lady, but she still didn’t deserve that, and this is the kind of thing he _should_ do.

\--

Lord Selwyn does tell him that he should have kept his hands to himself, later, but then he adds that he won’t mention the incident with his lord father – it’s not as if he hadn’t been wanting to do it himself. And Ronnet Connington will keep his mouth shut, as there’s no way that this story would be flattering for him.

Jaime doesn’t even know why he goes knocking on Brienne’s door after – she disappeared minutes after his chivalrous act and he hasn’t seen her since. He shouldn’t even care, but she hadn’t deserved that and he figures it’s not a crime if he wants to see how she’s doing.

A voice that sounds like Cersei’s tells him that he’s going crazy. Jaime ignores it and walks inside when he hears a strangled _come in._

She’s sitting on her bed, the gown thrown over the ground, and wearing her custom breeches and shirt again. Jaime is almost relieved at the sight. Then he looks at her face – fuck, she cried at some point – and he isn’t relieved anymore.

“Don’t waste tears on that idiot,” he sets on, a moment later.

“What?”

“Come on, you really wanted to get married to _him_?”

She snorts, shaking her head. “Now that I’ve seen him, no. But it’s not that.”

“What is it then?”

She shrugs, then looks up at him, blue eyes rimmed with red, her hair falling all over her cheeks. “It was humiliating,” she whispers then, and – well. He gets it. The hall was full of people and he thinks he heard someone laughing at some point.

“Do you want to go to the yard?” He has nothing better to give her, but maybe she can let off some anger. It always worked for him, anyway.

“Go to the – do you want to _spar_?”

“Why, my lady, you’re not up for it?”

For a moment, there’s just silence. Then she stands up, walking until they’re face to face. “Very well then. Go change your clothes and find me there.”

Right – he’s wearing red velvet. Not a good outfit to spar in.

In the end, she still doesn’t beat him, but it lasts a whole lot longer than it usually does. When he finally disarms her, they’re both exhausted, but she’s slightly smiling when she stands up and he figures he didn’t get this wrong.

\--

The next day, she comes to his door, her cheeks blushing so hard that Jaime thinks that all her blood must have flown there. Then she tells him she noticed that he’s never really been outside Evenfall, and maybe he’d like to visit the island? She could show him around.

It’s weird, how embarrassed she looks when she’s nothing like that when they spar, but she’s right. He’s starting to get bored of his surroundings, and so he says why not.

\--

A week later, he has to admit it – Tarth isn’t just a good piece of land for dowry, it’s a _beautiful_ piece of land. And the waters surrounding it are really gorgeous, such a nice, deep shade of blue.

The same blue as her eyes, he thinks once, before wondering why the fuck would he even do that.

\--

After another long stretch of time, he realizes that there’s no way he’s going back home soon. His father answers no whenever Jaime asks to visit, his brother writes him that his father is planning something concerning Cersei’s hand but he doesn’t know what, and Cersei writes him accusing letters, but what should he do? He can’t exactly disobey his father all over again, and reading that he’s cruel because he left her doesn’t lift his spirits much – it’s not as if he had a choice. And he had been ready to give up his position, his rights and his entire life for her, she _could_ be a bit more understanding.

The day he gets a letter from his father from which it’s not hard to understand that he’ll find him a wife soon is the first day he loses to Brienne. He doesn’t even let her lose, for that matter – he’s just too tense and worried, and she doesn’t look half as satisfied as she should be when she helps him up.

“You weren’t into it,” she tells him accusingly. He snorts, not bothering to deny it.

“Sorry. But I wasn’t trying to let you win.”

“I’d hope so,” she huffs before looking straight at him. It’s just so weird that she’s pretty much as tall as he is, even if she’ll be four and ten in maybe a couple of months. Cersei was a lot shorter than him, when he saw her last.

“So, what happened?” she asks, and she’s flushing just slightly, but she isn’t looking down at the ground. “If you want to talk about it it, of course,” she adds hastily.

He shrugs, figuring there’s no harm in letting her know. “Nothing. But apparently my future wife is about to get picked. And I wasn’t looking forward to it.”

“At least she won’t complain about your looks,” Brienne mutters. “And you know, you could choose yourself.”

 _As if_ , Jaime thinks. _To have the only woman I’d choose myself, I should be a Targaryen._

“I see no sense in choosing someone I’d meet two days before marrying them,” he retorts. “And I hadn’t thought you were that interested in marrying.”

“I want to be a _knight_ , I don’t want to get married. No one sings about married women.”

 _And you’d probably be a better fit for a quest than for a husband_ , Jaime thinks, but he knows why she sounds reproachful. She knows that if she were to go out in the world and pledge her alliance to anyone they’d probably laugh in her face. Idiots, because she’d be good at it.

“Oh, really? I hadn’t even suspected that.”

“You always think everything is so _amusing_ ,” she says, but she sounds more curious than angry at him.

“It’s a better strategy than thinking everything is _not_.”

For a moment he expects her to ask him _why_ , and if she did maybe he’d tell her that, as hypocritical as it sounds when coming from someone with his surname and his legacy, when you’re the one person in your immediate family who isn’t outright hated by anyone it’s either that or living in a perpetual state of despair, but she seems to sense that it’s not a topic he’d like to touch right now.

She doesn’t ask him. She doesn’t tell him she’ll consider it, either, but she also doesn’t leave now that the conversation is seemingly over.

“You wouldn’t make a half bad knight,” he finally says when a long time has passed, enough that the silence was starting to become uncomfortable. And it’s the truth. She wouldn’t.

He doesn’t know what possesses him to think the she should smile more when she tentatively does a moment later, but – it does suit her. It suits her indeed.

 

  1. **betrayal**



 

Then he gets another letter. It’s from Cersei, which makes it even worse.

She’s marrying Rhaegar Targaryen after all.

And she doesn’t sound _that_ sorry about it.

He burns that letter before going down to the training yard. Brienne beats him again, but she doesn’t mention that his head wasn’t in it.

She knocks on his door later that night and she finds him staring at a blank piece of paper, not knowing what to write back.

“What’s wrong?” she asks softly, and he wishes she didn’t sound so honestly concerned.

“My sister’s getting married. To the crown prince.”

Brienne doesn’t ask him why he isn’t happy about that. Instead, she takes a chair and hesitantly sits next to him.

“Do you have to attend the wedding?” she asks. For a moment, Jaime is surprised, but then he shrugs.

“I don’t see how I could not go.”

“You don’t want her to do it,” Brienne says, and it doesn’t sound like a question.

“Why do you even care?” He knows he’s sounding ruder than he should, and he almost feels sorry when she flinches for a second, but then her huge, rough fingers touch his shoulder tentatively.

“I don’t know your sister,” she whispers. “But you’ve been here for more than a year – I’m allowed to care if you look distressed, or am I not?”

For a moment Jaime is oddly touched, and she looks so earnest – it’s kind of nice to know that someone gives a damn about his point of view here.

“My thanks, but you shouldn’t concern yourself.”

She looks at him with a stare that says _I know you’re lying,_ but she doesn’t press it.

\--

When he leaves, a short while later, she sees him off in her usual garb.

“I hope you have a pleasant journey,” she says, swallowing, and why does she look nervous? She hasn’t been nervous around him since they fought the first time.

“Thank you, my lady,” he replies. He hasn’t called her like that in ages because he knows she hates it, but for this once, why not. He turns his back on her, ready to board, when –

“Jaime! Wait,” she blurts out, and he turns back towards her again.

“Yes?”

“It’s – it’s only that – I…”

He’s about to ask her what’s going on when she moves forward and kisses his cheek for a couple of seconds before moving back as if it had burned.

“That was for Ronnet Connington,” she whispers, forcing herself to look up at him.

“But that was months –”

“I still owed you,” she answers before running away from him.

\--

He can still feel her full, warm lips against the stubble covering his cheek while on the boat. He thinks about it – why would she even do that? It’s the kind of thing that happens in songs, he muses before chuckling. Knight saves lady, lady kisses knight, all so neatly wrapped up and all so very _false_ at the end of it _,_ and doesn’t Brienne want to be a knight anyway?

Then he realizes that it might have been the only time she had been in the position not to be one.

Jaime doesn’t feel like laughing the next time he thinks about it.

\--

When he gets to King’s Landing, Cersei is positively glowing and he feels positively miserable.

 _I’d have given up everything to be with you and now everything you can think of is Rhaegar Targaryen?_ , he thinks bitterly, and he tries not to think about the knowing looks his brother sends him – gods, as if he needs someone else to know about him and Cersei.

He can’t help thinking that maybe – maybe he wasn’t her entire world, as much as he had thought.

He ends up thinking about Brienne’s clear, wide eyes after she kissed his cheek and he wishes he knew what is even going through his head.

 

  1. **longing**



 

Then he can’t postpone the damned conversation with his father anymore.

“It’s time that you marry, as well,” his father says, and Jaime wishes he was still on Tarth – at least no one bothered him with marriage talk on there.

“I don’t –”

“Jaime. You are my heir and you _have_ to do it. And no ridiculous talking about the Kingsguard.”

At this point he’d still have liked it better. “And _who_ should I marry?”

“There are plenty enough matches. I could arrange a visit with any of Hoster Tully’s daughters. I suppose Elia Martell isn’t a possibility, but Ashara Dayne could be a match, as well. If you’d rather wait a few years, there’s –”

“Stop this. It’s ridiculous. I don’t _know_ any of them.”

“You will if you visit them.”

“I’d still be marrying a nearly perfect stranger.”

His father sighs, then looks down at his hands then straight at him again. “What if I told you that you might pick any woman you’d wish? As long as you pick a damned one. Everything else can be arranged. We have the means.”

Jaime is about to just say _no_ , but then – then he stops himself just before refusing.

Truth to be told, there is one woman in the seven kingdoms who is not Cersei and that he can see himself being with.

“ _Any_ woman I wish?”

“Any. I would rather prefer she was highborn, but as long as you pick one it will be arranged.”

“Swear that.”

“Jaime, what’s this mummer’s farce?”

“I just need to be sure it doesn’t turn out to be, any woman except the one I picked.”

“Just say the name, won’t you?”

Jaime’s lips curl up into a smirk as he says it.

\--

As he had predicted, he has to fight for it. At the beginning, his father takes it as a joke, which means that Jaime has to convince him that he’s actually serious. And while he does it, he realizes that maybe it’s more serious than he had thought. When he spoke Brienne’s name, he had been thinking practically. He knows her, she knows him, they actually have interests in common and he’s learned to appreciate her for what she is. But the more he argues for it, the more he realizes it’s not just practical. It’s that he kind of misses her now that he thinks about it, brutal honesty and awkwardness included. It’s that he misses practicing with someone at his level. He misses the look in her eyes when their swords cross, and he’s sure it matches his. He misses seeing that so-not-womanly body of hers moving gracefully as she fought or climbed. He remembers her face when Ronnet Connington gave her that rose, he remembers thinking _what an idiot, he doesn’t know what he’s missing._

By the time he’s argued all the reasons why he should do this for one hour, he _knows_ that it’s not just practicality anymore.

It’s not the same he felt for Cersei, but he isn’t sure it’s a bad thing after all at this point.

“For the last time,” he interrupts his father. “I will gladly marry her, or I won’t choose at all. She might look like a man as much as you’d like, but she’s still a woman where it counts.”

“You’re sure about this.”

Jaime holds his father’s stare until he sighs and looks down at the desk again. “I married my daughter to a king, I suppose I can let you marry beneath your name. But for all the gods, why her?”

Jaime thinks about it for one moment, then shrugs. “She wants to be a knight. I couldn’t think of someone more suited.”

His father doesn’t look that convinced, but he still sits down at his desk and starts writing.

 

  1. **duty**



 

 When his feet touch the ground as he gets off his ship, Brienne’s waiting for him at the dock. Her shoulders are slightly larger, and she’s definitely as tall as he is now, and she’s looking at him as if she doesn’t know whether to kiss him or punch him in the face.

“You’re serious about this,” she says, staring straight at him.

“You thought I wouldn’t be?”

She glares at him, obviously meaning _considering how well it went last time excuse me if I might not entirely trust you_ , which is probably a good point.

“But why me? You could have any woman. And I’m not – I’m not a _lady_.”

“I wouldn’t even know what to do with a _lady_ ,” he replies. There’s a moment of silence, and then her eyes narrow.

“You do realize that no one is going to like it.”

“You do realize I couldn’t care less. But it seems to me that while your father agreed, I still haven’t asked you what you thought of it.”

“When you were away, my father found someone else who said he would have me. If I quit… behaving like a man,” she answers calmly.

“Seems to me that it hasn’t worked, either?”

“I said that I would accept any man for a husband only if he could beat me at arms. He lost,” she says, and Jaime tries not to laugh – he’d have liked to see that happen.

“It seems to me that you’re the only man who has, until now. And I guess at this point it’s my duty to fulfill my own oath,” she says, her tone slightly hopeful now, and when Jaime laughs, she laughs with him. She has such a nice smile, he thinks, regardless of her teeth, and he has to wipe tears from his eyes when he’s done.

\--

The only person who congratulates Jaime on his choice is his brother. Everyone else looks dubious at best, and Brienne keeps on telling him that this is insane and that his family hates her. Jaime shrugs it away whenever she insists. Cersei doesn’t look pleased at all, and when she takes Jaime on one side asking him _how_ he could want to marry such a woman, Jaime tells her that it’s his own business and leaves.

The more he’s told to break it off, the more he’s determined to get through with it.

\--

Jaime’s father arranges for the wedding to happen at Casterly Rock instead of at court. At least, everyone is happy with that decision, Brienne most of all; not that she doesn’t know that the crown prince and the queen will be there anyway, but it’s still not the same amount of people who’d attend if they were in King’s Landing.

Jaime finds her in the garden the evening before the wedding .

“Don’t even think about wearing a gown,” he says.

“Your aunt sent at least ten up to my room,” she replies, obviously uncomfortable. “None of them fit.”

“My aunt will have to deal with it.”

“Are you really sure about this?”

He huffs, moving closer to her. “Do I look like I’m not?”

She shakes her head then, and he doesn’t really know why he suddenly leans forward and kisses her.

For a moment she freezes against him but then she kisses back, her lips opening under his, her tongue tentatively seeking his own out. It’s obvious that she’s never kissed someone, and her lips are full and soft and nothing like Cersei’s, but the moment her hands reach up to his shoulders it becomes messy, all tongue and the both of them moaning into it. Her fingers are so very rough against his scalp, and her hair is soft and clean as he runs his hands through it, trying to mess it up. When it’s done, she’s breathing hard and her cheeks are flushed as he runs his thumb over a line of freckles along her cheekbone.

“Now, are _you_? Because if –”

“I’ve – I’ve dreamed about it. Since I was three and ten,” she interrupts, and he forgets what he was about to say.

“You never said –” he starts, and then interrupts himself because of course she wouldn’t have said anything. She seems to understand it, and he shivers when she moves just a bit closer. “I was about to say something very stupid,” he blurts out when nothing else happens.

“That would not be the first time such a thing has happened,” Brienne tells him, and fine, it’s not untrue, so he’s not going to deny it.

“It’s a good thing you already are adjusted to my rather annoying habits then,” Jaime says before moving forward and kissing her again, and if she had anything to reply to that, by the time the kiss breaks it’s either forgotten or not deemed important enough.

 

  1. **love**



Brienne doesn’t wear any of aunt Genna’s gowns.

Instead, she walks into the sept wearing a pair of fine leather breeches and a blue tunic that wasn’t certainly sent by any of Jaime’s relatives – it’s too plain and not red or gold enough for that. The hems are finely sewn in blue lace but that’s about the only frill in the entire thing, not counting her maiden’s cloak. Which is, admittedly, not as finely sewn as her tunic – it’s obvious that she made it herself, he had seen the marks on her fingers these last few days, and it’s obvious that she’s more talented with a sword than with needles. Someone laughs in the back of the crowd and Jaime would really like to know _who_ it is, but never mind that. Cersei is in first line, dressed in red and black.

He thinks her belly is slightly more rounded than it was the last time they saw each other.

She’s also staring at him as if she’s entirely not pleased with either his choice or the situation and he wants to laugh – _first you tell me I should be in the Kingsguard so nothing can stop us from being together because we_ belong _together, then you forget it for Rhaegar Targaryen and now you are displeased that I might forget that, too_?, he thinks, and maybe one day he’ll find a way to tell her, but not _now_.

Brienne is blushing ferociously as her father accompanies her towards the sept, but at least she’s not looking at the ground or anything of the kind. Good.

Jaime’s father is staring at the scene from Cersei’s side and Jaime can’t read his expression, but –

Honestly, _who cares_.

The septon starts with the usual drivel as her hand slips into his own – it’s as rough as his, and in the same places. Not that he didn’t know that already, but it’s somehow reassuring. He wishes this could have been a smaller affair – the praying and the singing and _more praying_ that they’re having to stand until they finally get to the bottom of it seem endless. The only thing he notices is that the more it goes on the tenser Brienne seems to get. He squeezes her hand a couple of times, her cloak should hide it and even if it doesn’t, he can’t care less if someone has to comment about it.

His attention goes back to the septon when he finally hears him say _cloak_ and Tyrion subtly kicks him in the shin – he manages to _not_ yelp as he turns towards his brother and takes the cloak from him.

(His father hadn’t been too keen on the idea. Jaime had insisted.)

He lets the coat unfurl for a moment – it’s all red and gold, _of course_ finely sewn. Possibly aunt Genna also took care of that along with the gowns Brienne hasn’t worn.

When he reaches out to unclasp Brienne’s blue and pink one, he feels her throat trembling under his fingers. He doesn’t let it fall to the ground – rather, he hands it back to Tyrion with more care than anyone would handle such a garment after taking it off, and he clasps the red and gold one in its place. He hears someone murmuring about how dreadful it is that the bride isn’t wearing _all_ Lannister colors and resist the impulse to ask _and what business is that of yours_ right in the middle of it.

“With – with this kiss I pledge my love,” Brienne says looking straight at him, the first thing she’s spoken since the ceremony began.

“With this kiss I pledge my love,” he echoes.

Then he gives her a _real_ kiss, rather than the ghost of one most people probably expected, _her_ included. But she kisses him back and she’s smiling ever so slightly when they part.

The septon clears his throat and declares them wed.

Not that he had thought he’d regret his choice, but he’s definitely _not_ doing it right now.

“What were you thinking?” She whispers as they head out of the sept – he has a hand on the small of her back and guiding her towards the shortcut for the main hall where they will sadly have to stand through the entire wedding dinner.

“I take my duties _seriously_. If I pledge my _love_ , then I’ll pledge it for real, not for show.”

“How considerate of you, all things –” She starts, and then she stops walking. Good thing no one was behind them or they’d have crashed into her. “Wait, have you just said –”

“Brienne, I think that it’s time to make _one_ thing clear here.”

“I’m – I’m listening.”

“I am _not_ the kind of person who settles.”

“But – don’t you love your –”

He shakes his head at once and stops her from finishing the sentence – he guessed at once what she was about to say and this is _not_ the place where anyone should say _that_ out loud.

“How did you know?” He asks. He’s sure he never _told_ her.

It was written on your face when you received her letter,” Brienne replies. “You didn’t need to say it.”

And she still accepted if she thought –

Then again. What did she said yesterday? That she had _dreamed_ of him kissing her?

“Case is,” he says, “that while I’m not going to treat you like some idiot and tell you that you’re wrong in _that_ assumption, that doesn’t rule out that I was telling the truth before. I wouldn’t have asked you if I didn’t mean it and I wouldn’t have _pledged_ anything if I didn’t want to. I – I did. Love _her_.” His voice is so low on the last two words that no one but Brienne could hear it. “I don’t know if I have quite stopped yet. That doesn’t mean I was lying before. I’m not settling, you’re not my second-best choice and honestly, if I didn’t want this that bad, I’d have joined the Kingsguard regardless of my father’s wishes. Are you seeing me swearing chastity vows?”

“… No. In fact, the exact opposite?”

“Good. Just so you know, I take my oaths very seriously.”

“Well, _my lord_ , so do I.”

 _That_ , he doesn’t doubt at all, and for the next few hours he can’t help noticing how confused most of the guests seem to be when they realize that she’s genuinely radiant and he’s genuinely glad that she is. Or that he married her.

Well, too bad for them. He’s entirely fine with his life choices.

  1. **honor**



 

The bedding is called before he can attempt to come up with some excuse to _not_ go through with it – one moment the wedding dinner is underway and another someone shouts for going through with it already and he has barely even time to take notice of being forcefully lifted from his seat and dragged backwards, never mind trying to get out of it.

By the time he’s dumped not very ceremoniously on the bed, he has a scratch on his arm deep enough it almost bleeds – he’s willing to bed that’s Cersei’s doing, even if he barely heard her among the noise. Brienne’s there not long later, and the moment she’s dropped on the bed as well she grabs at the sheet and clutches them against her bosom while Jaime tries to shoo everyone else out.

Damn, he should have thought about it before and he tells her so when the door closes.

“They said nothing I hadn’t heard before,” Brienne replies, shrugging minutely. “And if you’d rather not –”

“Who said anything about what _I_ would rather do or not do?”

She blushes without quite looking at him. “I know I’m not – well – I’ll do my best to –”

“Brienne?”

She stops at once, still not quite looking at him.

“Do _you_ want to?”

“Sorry?”

“We don’t have to do anything,” he replies, shrugging – she looks so tense that she’s making _him_ feel tense. “But as far as I’m concerned, I’d find it _deeply_ dishonorable to not attend to my marriage duties. Now, do you want me to or not?”

She gives him a _look_ , then –

“Yes,” she finally says. “But – well, my septa, she used to tell me that I’d be lucky if I’d find a lord husband in the first place, and I know I don’t look –”

He puts a hand on her wrist and she stops speaking at once, not that she sounded very convinced.

“Your septa,” Jaime says, slowly, “obviously has no bloody clue of how this works. Or better, she probably does but assumed you didn’t need to know. Do you still think I’m settling?”

“No,” she replies at once. “No, I wouldn’t – you were fairly clear. It would be equally dishonorable of me to assume you were lying just out of spite. But I can’t imagine anyone looking forward to this part.”

“I am _not_ settling,” he repeats. “And it doesn’t have to be as sordid as you’re making it sound. Actually, it doesn’t have to be sordid at all. I can make an oath out of this if you’d like it better.”

“An _oath_.”

“I solemnly swear that if we go through with the _bedding_ , it’s not going to be sordid and you will enjoy every second of it. So, should I show you how much exactly I intend to be _honorable_ about this?”

She _looks_ at him, and then –

“Fine,” she says, “it’s not as if you have disappointed anyone yet on _that_ front.”

And she’s looking at it as if she’s daring him to prove her wrong, and maybe no one in this entire castle would believe it, more than anyone anyone else who’s seen her naked, but thing is –

Her hair might not be long or golden, but it’s clean and she definitely attempted to style it as much as she could – it’s not a very beautiful braid, Jaime thinks, that hair’s not meant to be braided, but as he undoes it and runs his fingers through it, he thinks that no one else might know how soft it feels. His other hand is ghosting over her stomach and muscles that are defined in the same way his own are, her fingertips on his arm are rough in the same way his own are as well. He knows that her fingers are as skilled as his own when she holds a sword’s handle.

He always used to think his sister was his mirror, and maybe she was when it came to _looks_ , true enough, but her skin was always soft and she doesn’t have the body of a swordsman (or woman), and she never quite understood him when it came to his fascination with knighthood, and certainly she had never looked at him as if he was the best thing that ever happened to her as his fingertips touched the soft flesh inside her legs.

(She always looked like she enjoyed it immensely, true. But it’s not quite the same.)

It’s obvious that Brienne’s expecting him to just get on with it and provide to his needs first, which is why he’s going to delay that as long as possible because he has a point to prove here, and he thinks that not many knights will have enjoyed fulfilling their oaths in the history of Westeros as much as he’s going to enjoy fulfilling _his own_.

Maybe –

Maybe _she_ is his mirror as much as Cersei used to be but just in different ways, he thinks with a clarity that should probably at least make him stop and ponder what kind of revelation he just had.

He’ll ponder what it says later, he decides as he slides his fingers deeper inside Brienne and swallows the moan that leaves her throat with his mouth; for now, he’s going to _do his duty_ , and enjoy every damned moment of it.

After all, it’d be very much dishonorable to do otherwise, and neither of them would want that, would they?

 

End.


End file.
